sevendeadlyfun (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
sevendeadlyfun) wrote2008-05-12 12:10 am
sevendeadlyfun) wrote2008-05-12 12:10 am
Entry tags:
First Place (1/1)
Pairing: Spike/Lindsey
Rating: NC-17
Summary: “Maybe you’re right,” he whispers, his voice lullaby-gentle and candy-sweet. “Maybe I am angry at bein’ Angel’s stunt double. It’s why you used me, innit? Little bit of payback for the old man, yeah? Take his blue-eyed boy and give’im the star treatment, and you’d get first place for once.”
A/N: Written for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
ash_carpenter as thank you for her wonderful Faith/Wes story Grudge. She asked for Spike/Lindsey grudgefucking and I hope this fills the bill. I'm also shamefully late, as she requested this back in March. However, I will plead absent muse as Lindsey is not one of my normal characters. Takes place in Angel S5, during the episode "Power Play".
They leave the room one by one. Lorne first and Spike knows it’s because despite the devil’s eyes and horns, Lorne just doesn’t have the stomach for the kind of evil they swim in every day. Gunn follows him fairly quickly, hands twitching like he can’t wait to wash’em and be rid of the filth. Spike wishes him luck. No way to wash off the filth of this place. No matter how hard you scrub, it sticks to you.
Wes lingers, face impassive. Spike knows, knows, that he’s thinking of Fred. Innocent victim? Sacrifice to the Senior Partners? Spike almost wishes for the former. He’s hated Angel for going on a hundred years now, but thinking that Angel could do that to an innocent girl makes him panic. What’s to say the soul makes him any good, if Angel’s soul lets him sell out Fred for a bit of power?
Finally Wes strides out, and Spike can smell the salt tang of his sorrow. That smell twines around him, mixes with the everywhere aroma of Angel that permeates the entire building. They fit together and his mind is replete with memories, all of them sparked by that particular combination of scents.
A girl just into her teens, frail for her age but rounded enough to attract Angelus’ eye…
Two young lads, twins and fine strong boys they are, Angelus booms to their beaming parents, reaching out to stroke a pinkened chubby cheek…
His eyes screw shut and he winces against the imagined screams. His worst memories involve Angelus and the sorrow that followed in his wake. Until the soul, those were his best memories and the sharp divide between then and now enrages him.
“Ooh. Kinda sucks, doesn’t it? Knowing that in the end, you’re just an inch shy of measuring up.”
Spike’s head tilts and he peers over his shoulder. The sly words, delivered in that oily voice whose accent is as fake as his, set off a surprising depth charge that reverberates throughout his skull. Why those words should be the straw that broke the sodding camel’s back and not the hundred betrayals that came before? Spike isn’t sure.
He doesn’t need to be sure to plow a fist into Lindsey’s smirking face. Never really needed much of an excuse to give anyone a proper pounding, actually. But, he’s happy to soothe his battered soul with the knowledge that at least this beating was earned.
“Shut. Up.” He grinds out, and the blood trickling from Lindsey’s nose is smeared across his knuckles. “You bloody twit. Rambling on and on about Angel. You think you know him? A few years of bein’ his bum boy and you think you got’im figured out? Please. I spent twenty years suffering under the reign of Angelus the sodding Great.”
“Burns you up,” Lindsey slurred, head tilted back. “All this time and you’re still second best. Hell, you ain’t even second ‘cause you aren’t on the radar.”
“Oh no,” Spike shot back. “The bosses of Evil Incorporated don’t want to invite me to the company picnic. Whatever shall I bloody do? You sad little wanker. You think you can get me to turn on Angel? I’d have to be on his side first, you nit.”
Spike turns to walk out. He’s going to. But there’s a soft, almost whispered snicker behind him and he stops.
He refuses to be the butt of this cowboy’s joke. He stopped being the punchline the day he died and he’s killed for lesser insults. Lucky for the little prick he’s got a soul now. Spike knows he won’t kill him. But there are plenty of ways to hurt a man and leave him breathing.
He moves around the room, and Lindsey’s watching him. Those malicious bird-bright eyes watch him walk and Spike almost smiles because Lindsey thinks he’s won. Spike knows he’s easily baited, knows he’s being baited now. He doesn’t care. This time the screams will be real and somehow that makes him feel better.
He lunges forward, moving faster than human reflexes and just like that, Lindsey’s facedown on the table. Spike slithers up the lean, prone body, hands fisted in the cheap checked cotton. As his lips touch Lindsey’s ear, he drops one hand to the tight denim and pulls, feeling the seams buckle and snap.
“Maybe you’re right,” he whispers, his voice lullaby-gentle and candy-sweet. “Maybe I am angry at bein’ Angel’s stunt double. It’s why you used me, innit? Little bit of payback for the old man, yeah? Take his blue-eyed boy and give’im the star treatment, and you’d get first place for once.”
Spike gives the fragrant bit of flesh under him a lick; his tongue glides up Lindsey’s neck, relishing, for the first time since Sunnydale, the taste of fear.
“See,” Spike continues and his word are clipped now,” ‘M not Angel’s blue-eyed boy, am I? Not all that eager to stand in that particular bloody spotlight. But who doesn’t want first place?”
Spike’s fingers reach out to cover the bare flesh of Lindsey’s hip, digging painfully into the soft skin. He feels Lindsey still as the shock of realization hits. He loves this part, when the light comes on and they know, really know. That’s when the struggling starts and Lindsey’s no different.
“Only makes it hurt more,” Spike warns him and it’s warning born of painful, personal experience. He’d struggled the first few times. Until he got to like it and the struggles turned to something more enticing and erotic. He wonders if Lindsey’ll get like it and realizes quickly that he doesn’t much care.
He slides a spit soaked finger into the crease of Lindsey’s ass, pushing through the tense muscles. The bastard’s trying to keep him out, but a quick slap to the thigh shocks him into unclenching. Spike pushes into him, one finger and another in rapid succession.
“Did you want Angel here?” Spike asks, eager to twist the knife. “He wouldn’t, would he? Here you are, desperate to dance on his prick and he doesn’t have the decency to bugger you. Not to worry…”
Spike pulls his fingers out and opens his denim. He lines his cock up, and he’s so. Fucking. Hard. He pushes forward and his prick slides up the sweet little line of Lindsey’s bum. But a helping finger guides him to where he wants to be and he’s pushing in, scraping against the barely lubed channel.
Lindsey’s still fighting, writhing against the pain of the intrusion. It feels like heaven to Spike, and he groans as he tries to control himself. He’s miles from coming, but the urge to have a wee nip is killing him. The scent of fear, the sweet tightness on his cock and the maddening aroma of Angel threatens to overwhelm him.
He begins to move, his hips thrusting almost lazily as he enjoys being deep inside Lindsey’s body. The other man’s not fighting as much now, and Spike moves his hand around to grab his cock.
“Wicked,” Spike hisses, grabbing a fistful of Lindsey’s long hair and yanking him backwards. “ ‘S what you need, innit? A good fucking?”
Lindsey shakes his head, and Spike admires him for that. Angelus would have had him bent double and begging by now, but Spike isn’t his Sire. He isn’t himself, either; just a piss-poor soulled imitation of William the Bloody because he’s stroking Lindsey’s cock as he fucks him.
“I hate you,” Spike tells him softly. “Hate Angel, but I hate you more. Least when Angel was using me, he was honest about it. And you know what? I almost love him for his honesty. You? I wouldn’t feed on you if I were starving.”
Spike wonders if maybe he should have held back because Lindsey’s bucking underneath him, spilling hot jizz all over his hand and the table. He shrugs and begins to snap his hips, his body pounding a punishing rhythm into Lindsey’s limp body. He cums, the pulses of his cock almost matching the beats of Lindsey’s heart. It seems oddly poetic and he gets lost inside that fragment of poetry, his orgasm almost forgotten.
“Spike.”
He looks up and smirks at Angel, withdrawing his cock from Lindsey’s stretched and battered hole. As he steps back, he admires the creamy white trail oozing down the back of Lindsey’s legs. He looks back at Angel.
“Button up and get out of here,” Angel orders him and it’s what Spike calls his Wolfram & Hart voice; toneless, tuneless, and none of the lyrical or lovely qualities that Angelus had, or even the charm and pain that Angel sometimes reveals.
“Right,” Spike answers, trailing a finger down Lindsey’s spine to dip one last time inside him. “Just leave this for you, shall I?”
Spike doesn’t expect an answer. The quick nod from Angel is enough to stun Spike into silence and though he moves forward, he doesn’t leave the room. He might not have been quick enough to catch on to Lindsey’s lies, but he’s not stupid enough to give up his front-row seats to this show.
Rating: NC-17
Summary: “Maybe you’re right,” he whispers, his voice lullaby-gentle and candy-sweet. “Maybe I am angry at bein’ Angel’s stunt double. It’s why you used me, innit? Little bit of payback for the old man, yeah? Take his blue-eyed boy and give’im the star treatment, and you’d get first place for once.”
A/N: Written for
ash_carpenter as thank you for her wonderful Faith/Wes story Grudge. She asked for Spike/Lindsey grudgefucking and I hope this fills the bill. I'm also shamefully late, as she requested this back in March. However, I will plead absent muse as Lindsey is not one of my normal characters. Takes place in Angel S5, during the episode "Power Play".They leave the room one by one. Lorne first and Spike knows it’s because despite the devil’s eyes and horns, Lorne just doesn’t have the stomach for the kind of evil they swim in every day. Gunn follows him fairly quickly, hands twitching like he can’t wait to wash’em and be rid of the filth. Spike wishes him luck. No way to wash off the filth of this place. No matter how hard you scrub, it sticks to you.
Wes lingers, face impassive. Spike knows, knows, that he’s thinking of Fred. Innocent victim? Sacrifice to the Senior Partners? Spike almost wishes for the former. He’s hated Angel for going on a hundred years now, but thinking that Angel could do that to an innocent girl makes him panic. What’s to say the soul makes him any good, if Angel’s soul lets him sell out Fred for a bit of power?
Finally Wes strides out, and Spike can smell the salt tang of his sorrow. That smell twines around him, mixes with the everywhere aroma of Angel that permeates the entire building. They fit together and his mind is replete with memories, all of them sparked by that particular combination of scents.
A girl just into her teens, frail for her age but rounded enough to attract Angelus’ eye…
Two young lads, twins and fine strong boys they are, Angelus booms to their beaming parents, reaching out to stroke a pinkened chubby cheek…
His eyes screw shut and he winces against the imagined screams. His worst memories involve Angelus and the sorrow that followed in his wake. Until the soul, those were his best memories and the sharp divide between then and now enrages him.
“Ooh. Kinda sucks, doesn’t it? Knowing that in the end, you’re just an inch shy of measuring up.”
Spike’s head tilts and he peers over his shoulder. The sly words, delivered in that oily voice whose accent is as fake as his, set off a surprising depth charge that reverberates throughout his skull. Why those words should be the straw that broke the sodding camel’s back and not the hundred betrayals that came before? Spike isn’t sure.
He doesn’t need to be sure to plow a fist into Lindsey’s smirking face. Never really needed much of an excuse to give anyone a proper pounding, actually. But, he’s happy to soothe his battered soul with the knowledge that at least this beating was earned.
“Shut. Up.” He grinds out, and the blood trickling from Lindsey’s nose is smeared across his knuckles. “You bloody twit. Rambling on and on about Angel. You think you know him? A few years of bein’ his bum boy and you think you got’im figured out? Please. I spent twenty years suffering under the reign of Angelus the sodding Great.”
“Burns you up,” Lindsey slurred, head tilted back. “All this time and you’re still second best. Hell, you ain’t even second ‘cause you aren’t on the radar.”
“Oh no,” Spike shot back. “The bosses of Evil Incorporated don’t want to invite me to the company picnic. Whatever shall I bloody do? You sad little wanker. You think you can get me to turn on Angel? I’d have to be on his side first, you nit.”
Spike turns to walk out. He’s going to. But there’s a soft, almost whispered snicker behind him and he stops.
He refuses to be the butt of this cowboy’s joke. He stopped being the punchline the day he died and he’s killed for lesser insults. Lucky for the little prick he’s got a soul now. Spike knows he won’t kill him. But there are plenty of ways to hurt a man and leave him breathing.
He moves around the room, and Lindsey’s watching him. Those malicious bird-bright eyes watch him walk and Spike almost smiles because Lindsey thinks he’s won. Spike knows he’s easily baited, knows he’s being baited now. He doesn’t care. This time the screams will be real and somehow that makes him feel better.
He lunges forward, moving faster than human reflexes and just like that, Lindsey’s facedown on the table. Spike slithers up the lean, prone body, hands fisted in the cheap checked cotton. As his lips touch Lindsey’s ear, he drops one hand to the tight denim and pulls, feeling the seams buckle and snap.
“Maybe you’re right,” he whispers, his voice lullaby-gentle and candy-sweet. “Maybe I am angry at bein’ Angel’s stunt double. It’s why you used me, innit? Little bit of payback for the old man, yeah? Take his blue-eyed boy and give’im the star treatment, and you’d get first place for once.”
Spike gives the fragrant bit of flesh under him a lick; his tongue glides up Lindsey’s neck, relishing, for the first time since Sunnydale, the taste of fear.
“See,” Spike continues and his word are clipped now,” ‘M not Angel’s blue-eyed boy, am I? Not all that eager to stand in that particular bloody spotlight. But who doesn’t want first place?”
Spike’s fingers reach out to cover the bare flesh of Lindsey’s hip, digging painfully into the soft skin. He feels Lindsey still as the shock of realization hits. He loves this part, when the light comes on and they know, really know. That’s when the struggling starts and Lindsey’s no different.
“Only makes it hurt more,” Spike warns him and it’s warning born of painful, personal experience. He’d struggled the first few times. Until he got to like it and the struggles turned to something more enticing and erotic. He wonders if Lindsey’ll get like it and realizes quickly that he doesn’t much care.
He slides a spit soaked finger into the crease of Lindsey’s ass, pushing through the tense muscles. The bastard’s trying to keep him out, but a quick slap to the thigh shocks him into unclenching. Spike pushes into him, one finger and another in rapid succession.
“Did you want Angel here?” Spike asks, eager to twist the knife. “He wouldn’t, would he? Here you are, desperate to dance on his prick and he doesn’t have the decency to bugger you. Not to worry…”
Spike pulls his fingers out and opens his denim. He lines his cock up, and he’s so. Fucking. Hard. He pushes forward and his prick slides up the sweet little line of Lindsey’s bum. But a helping finger guides him to where he wants to be and he’s pushing in, scraping against the barely lubed channel.
Lindsey’s still fighting, writhing against the pain of the intrusion. It feels like heaven to Spike, and he groans as he tries to control himself. He’s miles from coming, but the urge to have a wee nip is killing him. The scent of fear, the sweet tightness on his cock and the maddening aroma of Angel threatens to overwhelm him.
He begins to move, his hips thrusting almost lazily as he enjoys being deep inside Lindsey’s body. The other man’s not fighting as much now, and Spike moves his hand around to grab his cock.
“Wicked,” Spike hisses, grabbing a fistful of Lindsey’s long hair and yanking him backwards. “ ‘S what you need, innit? A good fucking?”
Lindsey shakes his head, and Spike admires him for that. Angelus would have had him bent double and begging by now, but Spike isn’t his Sire. He isn’t himself, either; just a piss-poor soulled imitation of William the Bloody because he’s stroking Lindsey’s cock as he fucks him.
“I hate you,” Spike tells him softly. “Hate Angel, but I hate you more. Least when Angel was using me, he was honest about it. And you know what? I almost love him for his honesty. You? I wouldn’t feed on you if I were starving.”
Spike wonders if maybe he should have held back because Lindsey’s bucking underneath him, spilling hot jizz all over his hand and the table. He shrugs and begins to snap his hips, his body pounding a punishing rhythm into Lindsey’s limp body. He cums, the pulses of his cock almost matching the beats of Lindsey’s heart. It seems oddly poetic and he gets lost inside that fragment of poetry, his orgasm almost forgotten.
“Spike.”
He looks up and smirks at Angel, withdrawing his cock from Lindsey’s stretched and battered hole. As he steps back, he admires the creamy white trail oozing down the back of Lindsey’s legs. He looks back at Angel.
“Button up and get out of here,” Angel orders him and it’s what Spike calls his Wolfram & Hart voice; toneless, tuneless, and none of the lyrical or lovely qualities that Angelus had, or even the charm and pain that Angel sometimes reveals.
“Right,” Spike answers, trailing a finger down Lindsey’s spine to dip one last time inside him. “Just leave this for you, shall I?”
Spike doesn’t expect an answer. The quick nod from Angel is enough to stun Spike into silence and though he moves forward, he doesn’t leave the room. He might not have been quick enough to catch on to Lindsey’s lies, but he’s not stupid enough to give up his front-row seats to this show.
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Spike doesn’t expect an answer. The quick nod from Angel is enough to stun Spike into silence
Gulp!
It seems oddly poetic and he gets lost inside that fragment of poetry, his orgasm almost forgotten.
Ah Spike! What a dreamer!
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Glad you liked it, hon!
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This was just stunning honey! You really got inside the characters (love this: "The sly words, delivered in that oily voice whose accent is as fake as his") and the snippet about Angel at the end was just fantastic....Mmmm, hope he has fun ;-)
This was painful and brutal and kinda desperate and hot and awesome and just...YAY!
Thank you sooooooooo much!
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*hugs*
And congrats on your many, many well-deserved wins! You are on a total roll, hon!
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"I wouldn’t feed on you if I were starving.” - I really liked that line!
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I think you really captured an intense dynamic here.
I could probably fill up this box with all the quotes I liked too.
And the Angel part at the end where he nods at Spike was just....GUH!
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*hugs* xxx
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Thank you for the great story. I could so see that happening!
“Right,” Spike answers, trailing a finger down Lindsey’s spine to dip one last time inside him. “Just leave this for you, shall I?”
Spike doesn’t expect an answer. The quick nod from Angel is enough to stun Spike into silence
*shivers*
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Dang.
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Congrats, sweetie! And I'm glad you enjoyed the story.
Yeah
whew...
Need a smoke.
I don't smoke!
So...nasty and mean...and violent...and completely....
hot.
Mae
Re: Yeah